As my age approached my eighteenth year,
so young and carefree,
the things I said and did back then
didn’t mean that much to me.
I remember high school days and the senior prom,
hadn’t thought of Cambodia much less Vietnam.
I was young in a reckless way,
still wet behind the ears.
How could I know the ghosts unleashed
would follow me for years?
For years the water flows
beneath the endless bridge of time.
I am now plagued by morality;
was killing then a crime?
I guess we all are victims now,
as I’m sure that you can see,
‘cause I was once a part of it.
Now it’s a part of me.